


i'll look 'em in the eye (gonna hear me say it)

by writing_addict



Series: called into battle and all of it shattered (but i'm aiming high not to lose you) [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (which is basically what winry is even as a superhero), Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Automail, Automail Talk, BAMF Winry Rockbell, Banter, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Fluff, Hydra (Marvel), Light Angst, Mechanics, Meet-Cute, Past Torture, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Tension, Sort Of, Team as Family, and edward elric is fullmetal, but it's like slight sexual tension, captain america civil war? we dont know her, i will fill up that tag my goddamn SELF, in which winry rockbell is iron queen, the avengers franchise ended in 2012 haha what do you mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_addict/pseuds/writing_addict
Summary: Between being Iron Queen, leading one of the most prominent and influential companies in the world, and working with the rest of the Avengers to make sure their team runs smoothly (and a little more than smoothly, if she's being honest), Winry Rockbell doesn't have a lot of time to just create in her lab like she used to. So when she has three days of absolute freedom to go as wild as she wants, of course she jumps on it--and of course she's a little annoyed by an unexpected visitor.She certainly doesn't expect tobondwith Alphonse Elric's long-lost, ex-assassin brother.Or: Winry is Iron Queen, Ed is Fullmetal, and they have a lovely talk in the lab about prosthetics, nicknames, and trauma. Mostly the first two.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Edward Elric & Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell
Series: called into battle and all of it shattered (but i'm aiming high not to lose you) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819333
Comments: 39
Kudos: 121





	i'll look 'em in the eye (gonna hear me say it)

**Author's Note:**

> still quarantine, still bored, still on my bullshit. anyways have some confident winry and ed being unintentionally sexy but also awkward because he's been tortured and brainwashed for seventy years. also the title is from halestorm's "amen"
> 
> also the other avengers are:  
> Izumi Curtis as She-Hulk (and also one of the most brilliant scientists in the world)  
> Ling Yao as Thor (except really he's just himself, and also the Xingese god of thunder)  
> Alphonse Elric as Captain America (even though he's an illegal immigrant)  
> Roy Mustang as Salamander (deadly assassin, very attractive, somehow hasn't died out of spite)  
> Riza Hawkeye as Hawkeye (bet y'all saw that one coming huh)
> 
> there we go now let's Jump Into The Fun

It was rare that Winry really got any time to herself at this point. Between keeping up with the R&D demands for Rockbell Industries ranging from medical tech to prosthetics to phones and tablets (plus the continued whining from the military about losing their defense contracts, even though it had been _years,_ and the government’s continued attempts to seize control of the Iron Queen suit), running the actual company, and ensuring the Avengers were kept in top fighting shape (and, of course, fighting tech), all her workshop time got eaten up by demands and requests and…well, everything. When she did have downtime, it was usually spent trying to grab a quick nap or planning a public appearance—because when you were a superhero and the CEO of one of the most influential companies in the world, you couldn’t so much as step foot outside your own tower without people trying to grab a picture or an interview—or, if she was lucky, watching a movie or something with the rest of the team.

At first, they hadn’t noticed—the team, that is. She’d let everyone know beforehand that sometimes MAES would have to record the briefings after every battle and/or training session, given her civilian life’s constant intersection with her less-than-civilian one, and they were fine with it, but apparently it had taken Riza Hawkeye sneaking through the vents three weeks into the Avengers’ cohabitation in Rockbell Tower to help them realize that _no,_ she wasn’t disappearing for all-night workshop binges or parties, that she was in the labs analyzing footage or downstairs on the business floors working with PR reps. That she wasn’t absent because she wanted to be, but because she _had_ to be if things were going to run smoothly.

It was early enough in the game, though, that they’d started stepping up. The infamous Salamander had taken over as the main PR person, explaining to Winry that though he’d always worked from the shadows before, he’d done that by putting on a mask before going after his marks—and PR was all about masks, wasn’t it? Izumi and Riza had designated themselves as the point people for dragging her out of the workshop before she could get lost in _everything needs to be done, so much needs to be done and I’m not doing enough I have to do more_ and making sure she took care of herself, a feat that certainly took even She-Hulk and the legendary Hawkeye some serious wrangling. Alphonse readily used his political clout as Captain America (he’d laughed at the title with her, once, told her how fucking _hilarious_ it was to him that they’d ended up making an illegal immigrant from a small European nation the absolutely Symbol Of Patriotism that so many right-wing activists tried to use him as) to deal with international affairs, and Ling Yao, as the _literal demigod prince of Xing,_ immersed himself in Earthen diplomacy so he could act as a true ambassador between their planets.

Just like that, things had gotten better. Just like that, the Avengers had gone from a hastily thrown-together team to a real _unit_ both on the field and off of it. It cut down a little on Winry’s stress, meant there was a little more downtime than usual now, that she could just relax with her friends (and wasn’t that novel, having _friends,_ not just people who wanted her for her money and her body and her mind, after she resigned herself to only ever having Paninya and Sheska). It meant that their team _worked,_ and wasn’t going to end up the ticking time-bomb Izumi had once called them.

But even with all of _this,_ with this newfound team and friendship and almost-close-to-family they were steadily building in the tower, Winry still didn’t get much free time to just… _create._ To step into the lights of her lab instead of the lights of the press, and lose herself in the glory of her passion without the deadlines for her company or the threat of a mission hanging over her. To turn her music up as high as she could and let her bots and her mind run wild as the numbers and schematics and equations in her brain became realities.

To just be _Winry._ Not Iron Queen, not the Bride of Death, not the Rockbell Heiress. Not even Winry Rockbell, the generous benefactor and teammate of the Avengers. Just Winry, a scientist and engineer who loved her work. Just... _herself._

She had time now, though—had _three glorious days_ of it, and she had dived in headfirst as soon as she realized her schedule was clear. Halestorm’s _“Love Bites”_ was blasting, the volume so high she could feel it shaking through the soles of her bare feet, and blue holograms flitted through the air, schematics and analyses just a swipe of her hands and a word to MAES away. Right now, right here, she was in her element _—_ not combat, not the suit, but pure, simple creation.

The press was far away, the Avengers weren’t her concern. Not right now. Not for this perfect weekend. There was going to be absolutely _nothing_ but sleeping, eating, and lab time—and oh, her hands seemed to _spark_ with energy at the very _thought_ of it.

“How’s the Mark VII looking, M?” she called, flipping through a new design for nerve-connected prosthetics—ones that could mimic the sensation and range of touch of flesh and bone with pads on the fingers. It would be painful to connect—incredibly so—but it would grant a fuller and more fluid range of motion for the wearer.

 _“Could use a bit of polish, ma’am,”_ the AI replied, his voice as cheery as ever. _“Are you going with your usual red and gold today?”_

“Polish? You’re saying my work isn’t _polished?_ I’m _wounded,_ MAES.”

She grinned at the dry tone to her creation’s voice as he drawled, _“I can see that, ma’am.”_

“Yeah, yeah, I know. And…mm. Throw a little black in the mix, would ya? I’m feeling… _deadly.”_ The colors of a coral snake were especially fitting, she figured—and she needed to be as swift as a viper, venomous as a serpent if she wanted to survive in a world full of super soldiers and gods and assassins. Iron Queen she might be, but without the suit…

Well, she wasn’t helpless, but she wasn’t a trained assassin. Didn’t have superpowers, didn’t have magical swords or _magic_ in general. All she had were her hands, her mind, and the arc reactor—and she could do a helluva lot with those, but sometimes that wasn’t _enough._ Sometimes the arc reactor was just something else for people to rip out of her chest.

_You had one last golden egg to give, didn’t you, Winry?_

She shuddered at the memory of Kimblee’s voice, tightened her fingers in the fabric of her shirt, the blue glow beneath them simultaneously cold and damning and warm and comforting. She was lucky enough that her downfall had resulted in something she could use to help others. Gave her chronic pain, yes, metal and raw energy pressing down on her ribs and lungs, yes, but she had learned to move with it, fly with it, _fight_ with it. Learned how to take responsibility for herself, her actions, her creations. Made change, made reparations.

Made herself into the person she’d wanted to be before her parents had died and Kimblee’s whispering voice became the devil on her shoulder. _Just keep the weapons going, Winry. You can’t change now. Go out, celebrate, have a few drinks. Keep up the image. No one would respect you without your genius backing you up. They barely respect you with it. Make something big enough to prove them all wrong._

She did—she had. She’d made the Jericho, and…

Everything had changed.

 _She’d_ changed. For the better, she hoped, but…

_The cold void of space—_

_Endless ships, endless armies—_

_They’re coming—_

_We aren’t strong enough—_

Greed had just been the opening gambit.

Something else was coming. And this time, she wasn’t sure they’d make it out like before.

_“—am? Ma’am?”_

Winry jolted at MAES’s voice, the prosthetic schematics blinking out like a light before reappearing as she swept them back open. _Shit. Got lost again._ “Sorry about that,” she chirped, forcing the cheer into her voice. “What’s up, M?”

 _“You have a visitor, ma’am,”_ MAES said in that voice that meant there would be _words_ later, that he’d caught the spiral, the way her heartrate had sped in panic and the way her breathing sped up, the crushing feeling of terror and _not enough air not enough time not enough—_ panic attack. Again. _Brilliant. “Shall I send them away?”_

She groaned, massaging at her temples. _Three days. I can’t even get three HOURS._ “Is it Sheska or ‘Ninya?” If it was Sheska, it was probably some company emergency situation that her PA needed to speak with her about. If it was Paninya, it was probably some military contract situation _or_ her old friend coming by to make sure she was still alive after disappearing into her lab (preferably with cheeseburgers and Ben and Jerry’s).

Then again, they had nearly unlimited access to her labs. They could just input the override code and come in, or buzz through the intercom. If someone had asked MAES to tell her they were waiting for her—well, the rest of the team would probably at least use the intercom or text her or something. _It better not be a government official. I swear to god I’ll punch something if it’s a government official._

_“No, it’s Major Elric. Shall I send him in?”_

Major—

Oh. Shit.

“Yeah,” she said after a moment, a bit bewildered. _Why is he coming to see me?_ “Yeah, send him in.” She turned down her music, the thumping bass fading until it no longer shook the room, before raising an eyebrow at the man standing in the doorway. “What’s up, buttercup?”

Golden eyes blinked slowly, before broad shoulders stiffened as the doors hissed shut behind him. “Buttercup?” he echoed, the slightest hint of an accent she couldn’t quite place coloring his voice—something between Russian and…somewhere _else_. “I am not…I do not—” He made a face, his nose scrunching up slightly (and rather cutely, if she was being honest) as he scowled. “I don’t think that suits me.”

Winry shrugged, dropping into a rolly-stool and wheeling over to one of her tables, the plans for the updated security system and the latest BellPhone shimmering blue over it. “Sure it doesn’t, Goldilocks.” She watched out of the corner of her eye as silver fingers tugged hesitantly on golden bangs, before angling her head toward him. “My incredibly accurate—”

_“Technically semi-accurate, ma’am—”_

_“Incredibly accurate_ nicknames for you aside,” she repeated, shooting a _look_ at the ceiling. There was a muffled noise, almost a laugh, and she glanced at the visitor in surprise—but his face was as serious as before. “You came here for a reason. I’d like to know what it is.”

“I can go—”

Winry sighed, nudging another wheeled stool out from under the workstation. “Did I say leave? No. Sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

Golden eyes blinked slowly, guiltily, and she tilted her head up at him, arching an eyebrow. Edward Elric was…an anomaly, to say the least. Everyone knew about him, about Captain America’s brother who died in war, only for the world to discover that he was in fact _not dead,_ and instead taken and brainwashed into a weapon for HYDRA. The deadly assassin known as Fullmetal had been identified, brought in by his brother, and…well, now he was here.

The team was happy to make space for him, and honestly, Winry was too. She was incredibly happy that Al had finally found his big brother, that Edward trusted her and the team enough to stay here, that they were reunited and working together once more. Ed wasn’t _officially_ part of the team (though he wasn’t technically a consultant like she had been at the beginning), but he’d run a few missions with them, and he worked well with them. Didn’t contribute much to the banter, but she supposed that was part of being a formerly dead, formerly brainwashed assassin.

She wasn’t particularly close with him, though— _none_ of them were. Except for Al, and even with Al, Ed almost seemed…hesitant. Shy, and skittish, as though he was scared this would all disappear if he got too comfortable. As if he thought he’d deserve it when it did.

Winry…Winry knew that feeling better than she wanted to admit.

“My arm hurts.”

She blinked at the words as Ed hesitantly shuffled closer, his gait remarkably quiet for a man with a metal leg as well as an arm. Flesh fingers worried at a steel wrist, the paneling on it brutal to look at and the whole damn thing seeming to just… _radiate_ cold. “Your arm?”

“The—” He circled his wrist slowly, taking another step forward—as though she’d lash out as soon as he got too close. “Everything. Yes. It—um. I wasn’t aware that it, ah, wasn’t supposed to? But—apparently it shouldn’t. So, uh—if…if you could—uh—” He shook his head after a moment, grimacing.

Winry, however, had been doing press conferences since she was seven. She knew how to fill in the blanks. “You want me to take a look at it, see what’s wrong,” she surmised, before patting the stool. “Thought you’d never ask, buddy. Take a seat and lemme crack in—not literally!” she added quickly. “I’m not just gonna snap it open or anything.”

His expression didn’t change, but—his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, and she hid a grin as he sat down, gaze roving over the bright lights and gleaming windows. _Victory._ “MAES, buddy, can you pop open the Toolbox?”

 _“Right away, ma’am!”_ the AI chirped, and she nodded in silent satisfaction as a compartment on the worktable opened, revealing the specialized tools she used in her original field—the one she studied at MIT.

“You…have worked with these before, right?”

Winry glanced up at Ed as she carefully laid his arm out across the table, letting MAES run a full biometric scan on the thing as she carefully shifted the rippling, scale-like paneling. _Yeesh. Sharp stuff._ “Of course I have. _This—”_ she waved a hand, letting the schematics for the nerve-connected prosthetics zoom into place “—has been in the works since I was in college.” Hell, this was what she’d wanted to go into—before her parents died, before Kimblee had spent the next fifteen years gaslighting her, before Afghanistan.

Everything was quiet, for a moment—not an uncomfortable silence, not really, just…a natural one. She pulled the results of the scan up when MAES silently alerted her to their completion— _needs a lighter metal for the damn thing, especially the outer paneling, that must add like 100 pounds to his body mass without even considering the leg and that shit has to hurt like a_ bitch, _more durable inner wiring, too, and those discs needed replacing like 40 years ago—_ and got to work on fixing what she could without literally _building him a new arm._ Not that the thought wasn’t tempting, because _damn,_ was it tempting.

Then—

“Nerve-connected prosthetics?”

She glanced up at him again in shock—because he’d been _reading_ them. There was a spark in his eyes, bright and burning, that hadn’t been there before. Something bold and powerful and _excited_ for what he’d seen.

She hadn’t seen him like that…ever. Not even in the old pictures of him and Al in the Smithsonian exhibit. There had been a different kind of light in him then, something innocent and warm and happy. Not this ember that could turn into a supernova, if aided. If welcomed. If treated well.

“Hell yeah,” she said after a moment, grinning up at him, before _a-ha-_ ing in delight as she worked out how to flip the panels. _Oh, damn, that inner wiring is corroded to all hell._ “Light materials, of course, unless it’s supposed to be battle-grade or something. The surgery…that’d be incredibly painful, and I haven’t worked out a way around that, and so would the reconnections, but it would be more durable and more efficient than what’s already out there. And hopefully, unless people were going out and starting fights with it, the connection itself wouldn’t actually need to be done more than a few times in a person’s lifetime.”

“And the cost?”

She snorted. “What good is having this much money if I can’t make the things people need actually _affordable?”_ It wasn’t like her usual income was going away as long as Rockbell Industries stayed on top, and with Sheska’s expertise at the helm, that was more than likely. And even if it didn’t, she still had more money than she could ever possibly _spend._

There was a low, rumbling chuckle. “You’re…very strange, Rockbell.”

“I’m literally cleaning forty-year-old gunk out of your arm’s wiring. I think we’ve achieved first-name basis, buttercup.”

“Only if you stop calling me buttercup, _Winry.”_

Oh boy. Oh, _dear._ The low purr of her name should _not_ have done these things to her, but it did, and—holy _shit,_ it had to be bad form to get a crush on your teammate’s ex-assassin brother, right? Paninya would never let her live this down when she heard. She could already feel MAES gearing up to tease her about it as she ducked her head, forcing her attention back to his arm. “Yeah, yeah, w _hatever,”_ she muttered, hoping he couldn’t see the flush on her cheeks. “If you hadn’t noticed, it’s kind of my thing. Everyone gets a nickname, even your brother.”

He barked a laugh, and she nearly jumped, hands only remaining steady because of her experience with this sort of task. It was a shock, though—to see how quickly someone so reserved opened him. To hear him _laughing_ and bantering with her when on the comms and in the larger tower he’d seemed so…quiet. “Oh, I know. He _loves_ it.”

“Does he actually?”

“Mmm, not when I do it.”

It was her turn to laugh, shaking her head in amusement as she let the paneling ripple back over the wires. Some of the tension in his body seemed to evaporate, and she patted his shoulder encouragingly. “Sucks to be you, buddy—though I think the only reason I get away with it is the deadly weapon-suit.”

“The Iron Queen?”

“That’d be the one.” She tapped his arm again. “Any pain?”

Golden eyes blinked slowly, dimming. “No—no more than usual, anyways.” He curled his fingers slowly, before flexing the arm, turning the wrist, stretching it out—everything. “…They kept tabs on you. In HY—with _them.”_ She went still at how his voice choked over the words, shaken from the very memory. “Thought you’d be an asset. Not The Asset, not _me,_ but—but then you put on the armor, and they knew, they _knew_ you were too smart to fall for their bullshit, so you became a threat. A bigger threat than Al. I—I _remember_ that.” His eyes met hers, fierce and burning. “They said you were _dangerous._ Iron Queen. Winry Rockbell. That you were strong.”

She couldn’t move—couldn’t breathe, trapped in his stare—

“You…you were the one that scared me the most,” Ed murmured after a moment, staring down at his open palm. “When they had me watch the reports on the Battle of Manhattan. Of Gulmira. Of the Crimson Lotus.”

Blue light flickered in her chest, her heart skipping a beat, going dead for a moment. _He’s scared of me. He’s—_

“But—you were also my favorite.”

Calloused hands grazed hesitantly over her cheek, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. “Because,” he said, answering her unasked question, “I thought that if anyone could raze them, salt the earth with them, cauterize the wound so they could never regrow, it would be _you.”_

Her hands shook lightly around her screwdriver as she stared up into golden eyes, into something so wild and fierce and untamed that HYDRA had to keep him muzzled for over seventy years. Ed blinked down at her for a moment, before getting to his feet and heading for the lab door.

“When you finish developing the automail, I would like to try it. If you’d let me.”

And then he was gone.

Winry leaned back against the worktable, slowly setting the screwdriver down. Her hand came up to press lightly against the arc reactor, the light shimmering between her fingers as she silently traced the shape.

“MAES?”

_“Yes, ma’am?”_

“Rename the Nerve-Connection Prostheses files to Automail…and grant Major Elric the same permissions as Sheska and Paninya for workshop access.

_“Certainly, ma’am.”_

**Author's Note:**

> hope you guys enjoyed it! leave a comment and/or a kudos if you enjoyed it, and i'll see you next time!
> 
> ALSO donation commissions remain open! please continue to donate to organizations and sign petitions calling for an end to police brutality, systemic racism, and call city and state officials related to the cases of Breonna Taylor (whose murderers have STILL not been arrested), George Floyd (one of his killers was recently bailed out of prison), and the increasing cases of lynching around the United States that are being ruled as _suicides_ by the police. uplift black voices (particularly lgbtq+ black voices), raise awareness, talk with your families. take care of yourselves, take it easy--but still take it. focus. listen. and _learn_.


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